


The Night We Met

by space_squirrel



Series: The Heart Against The Mind [1]
Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: F/M, How We Met, MER Week, MERweek, Mass Effect Relationship Week, The Day We Met, The Night We Met, fshenko - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-09 16:57:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11108862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/space_squirrel/pseuds/space_squirrel
Summary: Lieutenant Brooklyn Shepard has never been a fan of stuffy political functions - especially not when her name is on everyone's lips.Written for Tumblr's #MERWeek Day 1 - The Day We Met





	The Night We Met

 

Brooklyn Shepard has always felt out of place at these fancy Alliance unctions.

Her successful military career aside, deep down she knows she is still her Pa’s farm girl at heart: she is most at home in the quiet dawn hours, before the hustle and bustle of the day really begins; most at peace in a small, intimate setting, either alone or with a few close confidantes.

So no, spending the evening at a stuffy political function attended by roughly 600 of her comrades and superiors is not exactly her idea of a good time.

Truth be told, she had not wanted to come to this - not by a long shot - but Anderson was receiving a prestigious award tonight and, with it, a new ship. Considering he’d already let it slip to her that she was being promoted to a new post as his XO, she felt there was no avoiding tonight’s event.

But oh, how she hates the crowds these things draw, hates the small talk and smile she has to force onto her face. But what she hates the most is the whispers in the shadows, the way she can constantly feel eyes on her as she moves through the crowd, hear them talking - never _to_ her, but always _about_ her.

 _“That’s the girl from Mindoir.”_  
_“Lieutenant Shepard, right?”_  
_“—a survivor, that one.”_  
_“—whole unit was killed, every last one except—”_  
_“A Thresher maw, those are acid burns on her face—”_  
_“Poor thing, can’t imagine what she’s—”_  
_“—and she’s such an exemplar Alliance officer now, it’s truly—”_  
_“—family slaughtered by slavers, including her younger brother.”_  
_“I heard she torched the house herself, to keep them from—”_

Brooklyn frowns, feeling the familiar sting of tears at the corners of her eyes ( _God, even after all this time, she could still be so emotional_ ), sucking in a breath and ducking her head as she tries to push her way through the crowd to the balcony, where she can get some fresh air and, hopefully, clear her head in relative silence. She’d thought Anderson had managed to put an end to the Alliance gossip mill chatter about Mindoir—a favourite topic as of late, what with the insane talk of erecting a _statue_ there in her honour; but apparently some things are harder to kill than others.

She’s reached the edge of the room, now, turning a corner and heading down the long stretch of hallway that leads to her destination. There’s few people back here, it seems, and Brooklyn silently prays that no one else has found the little nook at the back, where she knows the banquet hall’s small balcony lies.

Ever since Mindoir, Brooklyn can’t go anywhere without taking note of each and every exit, every door that leads outside - regardless of how high a drop it may be. She’s always living in the _what if_. It’s made her a better soldier, that she knows, but also has made her somewhat of a joke among her small circle of friends ( _if you could even call them that_ ).

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, she reaches the french doors leading to the balcony and pushes heavily into them, swinging them open into the night and barreling outside.

She lets out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, slumping her shoulders and dropping her head to her arms as she leans on the railing. She squeezes her eyes shut, and takes a deep breath in, exhaling slowing, then breathes in again; struggling to check her anxiety and emotions.

“The people who know the least about you always have the most to say, don’t they?” A husky voice asks, and she stiffens instantly, dropping her Lieutenant Shepard mask back into place before turning towards the voice in question. _So much for being alone out here._

“I wouldn’t know,” she snaps, though her brain is, of course, screaming otherwise. She studies the marine standing before her - he’s taller than she is, by about half a foot, and wears his dress blues well. He’s young, probably only a few years older than her, if even, with dark, perfectly coiffed brown hair, and eyes that reminded her of the colour of her farm’s soil after it had been kissed by the spring rain.

He rubs his neck nervously, giving her a sheepish smile. “Sorry, ah, Lieutenant. I just... well, I noticed there was a fair amount of unwarranted chatter in there tonight, and... I thought you could use— that is, ah, I’ll just, I’ll just go then...” he trails off, taking two steps back as he turns to leave, and embarrassed flush spreading up his face, from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. It’s both endearing and pitiful, all at once, and Brooklyn can’t help but feel sorry for him, feel guilty at how quickly she’d snapped a minute ago.

 _“_ Wait!” she cries, and then mentally kicks herself for doing so as he freezes - after all, she’d come out here to be alone, hadn’t she? “I’m sorry, uh...” she pauses, realizing she doesn’t know his name _(though of course, of course he knew hers, it seemed everyone did, these days_ ).

“Alenko,” he offers, turning to face her once more, cheeks still pink. “Lieutenant Kaidan Alenko.”

“Well, Alenko,” she hears herself saying, “The fact that you’re all the way out here during the festivities leads me to believe you were enjoying the crowd about as much as I was. So please, don’t leave on my account.”

“Something like that,” he replies, offering her a small smile as he steps forward to lean against the railing next to her, staring out across the bay. They stand in silence for a few minutes, shoulder-to-shoulder, nothing but the sound of the gulls in the distance and the ocean waves filling the air.

She speaks first, eyes still focused on the horizon. “It really is tedious sometimes, isn’t it?”

“These events?” he asks, “or the gossip?”

Brooklyn is silent, considering how honest she wants to be with this man she just met. She can’t help but want to open up to him right now; there’s something about his body language, his carefully chosen words, that tells her he understands all too well the array of emotions she’s experiencing tonight.

“Both, I guess,” she says, and shrugs. "I've never really bothered addressing the gossip before. What point is there in defending yourself against something that isn't offensive?"

“Offensive or not,” he says slowly, “no one in that room has any right to judge you, because they don't know what you've really been through. Sure, they may hear the story, but they never once felt what you felt. Only you know that. Only you can talk about it.”

“Sometimes silence is the best answer. Silence can never be misconstrued, misquoted."

He doesn’t reply to that, nodding thoughtfully and returning his gaze outward. They stand in comfortable silence for a few more minutes, and right when Brooklyn is about to turn to him, ask him how he can be such a comforting presence, what it is that happened to him that makes him _understand_ all that’s happened to her, the balcony doors spring open and Anderson appears.

“There you are, Shepard! Come on, I have someone I’d like you to meet.”

Brooklyn gives the Lieutenant an apologetic look and excuses herself, straightening her back and raising her chin, instantly giving off an air of cool, collected professionalism as she follows Anderson out of the room and back to the party.

As she walks away, she wonders, absentmindedly, if she’ll run into him again.

She hopes she does.


End file.
